Wrath of the Mundane
by Redfield44
Summary: Mundanes garner little respect from members of the Shadow World: Downworlders, demons, even the Nephilim who swear to protect them. But what if there was a mundane agency dedicated to defending themselves from evil? Enter the Paranormal Defense Agency.


The night was nearly silent - an unusual occurrence in Manhattan. There were no cars on the road, and none could be heard in the distance. Boarded-up buildings lined either side of the road. Kames and Farris sat, perched, atop one of those buildings, like stone gargoyles. They were all but hidden from view, kneeling and scanning the streets - streets which were lit only by the moonlight. The vast majority of the streetlights in the area had long since stopped functioning, and no one had bothered to fix them. Not in this part of town.

Kames spotted movement, a man dressed in a variety of ragged clothing moving down the sidewalk with a stagger. Undoubtedly homeless, and unlikely to be missed. He turned to Farris and jerked his head toward the man. His companion nodded, the glint of his now-visible fangs evident in the moonlight. Without speaking a single word, Kames leaped from his perch and landed in the alley below without a sound. Farris followed close behind.

Kames waited, unbreathing, as the homeless man staggered past the alleyway without so much as a glance in their direction. Humans - they were cattle: lazy, stupid, and good for nothing but a quick meal. The two were considered "rogue" vampires by their kin as well as the Clave. The title merely amused Kames - he'd yet to have a Shadowhunter descend upon him and punish him for his wrongdoings. As far as he was concerned, his law-abiding brethren were little better than slaves. Degrading themselves by surviving off of bottled blood or the occasional stray cat or dog. A few, like Kames and Farris, refused to accept this fate. There had been a time when vampires were feared and respected - those ages had long since passed, but that didn't mean he couldn't follow their example.

The vampire exited from the alley soundlessly, moving after the homeless man with unnatural speed, grabbing by the collar and slamming him into the brick wall next to them. The man grunted and called out in surprise. Kames looked into the face of his prey, but was surprised to see a clean-shaven, young face staring back at him. There was no fear in its eyes, despite the fact that Kames' fangs were in clear view. Regardless, he wasted no time in leaning forward to sink his fangs into the man's throat - only to have them stopped in their tracks. Instead of sinking into warm flesh and blood, his fangs found only tough, synthetic material. Kames drew back with a grunt of confusion, and then his mind became blinded by pain.

"Suck on this," the human grunted under his breath, driving a blade into the vampire's throat. To any casual observer, it was a standard knife, with a somewhat rounded handle. In actuality, it was a modified WASP Injector Knife. The inside of the blade had a hollow pathway, with a hole near the tip. The rounded handle was a 24-gram canister of highly-pressurized holy water vapor.

Red blood sprayed outward as the man wriggled the blade around in the flesh of Kames' neck, before pressing a button on the knife. This caused the holy water vapor to rush forward, out of the blade and into the wound cavity at over 800 psi. The effect was devastating - simultaneously causing an embolism while tearing the wound open and poisoning the vampire, which fell backwards, grasping desperately at its mangled trachea while writhing on the sidewalk.

Farris moved out of the shadows, intent on exacting revenge upon his comrade's killer. He moved with the speed of the damned, but neither it nor his reflexes allowed him to dodge the two .45 caliber hollow-point bullets flying towards his heart. Each bullet had crucifixes carved into them. Upon striking the target, the polymer "lid" over the hollow tip of the bullet tore away, allowing holy water to rush forward into the vampire's body cavity. Pain wracked his body as the rounds entered his chest, one tearing through his heart. He never had a chance to dodge the third, which struck him squarely between the eyes.

More shapes emerged from the shadows. Kames saw them, his vision darkening. They were clad in surgical masks and goggles, carrying firearms, machetes, and... fire? In the back of his frantic mind, Kames realized he was being disposed of. He had heard of the efficiency of the Shadowhunters, but this was... different. As a machete was raised over his neck, Kames realized what it was - these men had no markss. They were cattle, not Nephilim. He died with that realization.


End file.
